


Ocean's 9

by Taro



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Casinos and shit, Drug Use, Extremely well planned robbery, F/M, Hackers, M/M, One direction/5 seconds of summer, and niall/ashton if you squint, conmen, it's basically an ocean's 13 au, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, mafia, michael/calum, niall and ashton are in constant denial even though they basically fuck, thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taro/pseuds/Taro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's art in crime.</p><p>Harry Styles is one of the best conmen there are in the world, along with eight more persons according to him. And when they all come together... Museums happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not really sure where this fic is taking me, but I hope I'm clever enough to keep up with it in the end. 
> 
> This came out as I made an Ocean's 11, 12, and 13 marathon, and thought, "Hey... Why not snip off a few Matt Damons, Brad Pitts and George Clooneys and sprinkle some boyband members?"
> 
> So here it is. Enjoy.

_"Stanley! Over here, Stan! How does it feel to open up your second casino? What do you plan on spending the money you gained from last week's Quarter Horse race at your race track? Stanley! We heard you made a millionaire deal with NASA and you're gaining more money. How is that going?"_

Stan could barely distinguish what each reporter was yelling at him for him to answer through the ecstatic crowd around him and his bodyguards yelling back at them to move over. He rearranged his sunglasses as he spotted a few girls at the back of the crowd—three blondes and a redhead, all tall and well make-upped, looking at him with hungry and smoky glances. He smiled. There were the groupies. He could come back and get them once the sun had come down and the paparazzi had calmed down too.

When he finally made it to his yellow Hummer limo, he checked his phone for new messages. He had one from his assistant—something about charity asking for his help. Deleted. Another message from an unknown number—it read, 'Hello, Stanley. My name is Bernard Whitfield and I'm the president of Whitfield Finances. I'd like to talk to you about a collaboration with...' Deleted. He had one more left.  
The limo drove away. He threw a quick glance back and a wink to his groupies hinting to go to his mansion later. He definitely needed some fun today; he had posed for pictures promoting his second casino—Prime Solstice Grand Casino—and he was just fucking tired. He checked the last message.  
__  
From: blocked number.  
'Long time no see, Copperfield.'  
  
Stanley dropped his phone. His blood ran cold. 

But he... He thought...

"Stop the fucking car, now!"

\--------------------------  
**Subway tunnels, London, England. 2:37 p.m.**

Distracted, big and slightly open backpack, carrying tons of bags in his arms. Perfect mark. Calum nodded at Michael, who was waiting a few meters back, and he nodded back. Both began walking toward each other, surrounding the poor stranger with the baggy backpack and the hood over his head. Calum couldn't see his face, but he didn't need to. Just before walking past the stranger, Calum leant toward him slightly, making them both spin a little with the crash of their shoulders. 

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't see you!" Calum repeated in a high voice, touching and bowing at the stranger—distracting—until he knew Michael would be done. 

"No, no, it's alright," the stranger mumbled, lowering his head even more so that Calum could only see his chin. Weird guy... Whatever.

"You're alright, right? Yes? Okay, have a good afternoon, sir!" Calum continued as he began to walk away from his mark. The stranger didn't even look back at him. Rude. Calum faced forward and kept walking until he got to the spot where he and Michael had agreed to meet. Calum leant on the wall and waited.

When Michael appeared around a corner again, he walked up to Calum, who watched with expectant eyes for his friend to get to him.

"So?" Calum asked as soon as Michael stood next to him.

Michael only took out the iPhone and the wallet that he had just stolen from their mark and gave them to Calum. Calum took them and huffed out a laugh, which Michael echoed.

"You know, Mike," Calum said as he opened the wallet, "Your pickpocketing skills never cease to amaze me."

Michael limped his wrist exaggeratedly, "Oh stop it. You flatter me too much, Cal,"  
"It's true! I may be on the foreground but you're the one doing all the work!" Calum praised Michael, who just laughed, while he checked the stolen wallet. 

It had... It was... Empty?

"Uhh, Mike..." Calum stuttered as he opened up every bag, every zipper of the wallet, but all of them were completely empty. Not even a penny anywhere, "There's nothing in here, not even an ID card."

"What?!" Michael chimed in and peeked over to look at the wallet. Who the Hell had their mark been? A fugitive or something? Who carries an empty wallet?

"Well," Calum stated after a dumbstruck while, "At least we have the phone."  
Michael nodded, but he was still frowning at the bizarreness, "Yeah, you're right."  
Just then, the phone began to ring.  
_**  
Blocked caller ID.**_

\--------------------------  
**Fuzion nightclub, Paris, France. 1:07 a.m.**

The club's suffocating ambient was making Zayn begin to feel light headed. Besides, the shots he had shared with those girls were starting to make effect. He wasn't exactly fond of hangovers—not that anyone is—so he chose to go out for a while, smoke a cig on the alley, let the buzz die down a bit and then go back inside.

Zayn had never been really fond of parties, but since his last job, he began to spend the money on sharing alcohol withs strangers. There was something about having a good night with someone he didn't even knew what their name was that gave Zayn a weird thrill, a good weird thrill. There was no need for sex—and Zayn wasn't that kind of guy anyway— with the sole fact of spending the night getting to know a new human being and have a good time was enough for him.

Zayn leaned on the damp wall and took out his pack, pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, and with difficulty thanks to the damn wind, he lit up the cigarette. Zayn pulled in a long drag while he put his lighter back in his pocket. He held it in for a few seconds, just enough for the smoke to make his throat begin to burn, and puffed it out slowly. He enjoyed that edge of pain a lot.

After a while of happily smoking his Lucky Strike, he noticed a shadow right beside him, to his left. Zayn whipped his head to look at whoever it was. He was scared for a moment, but then noticed the junkie-looking guy just standing there, looking at Zayn. The guy had dark clothes and a hood over his head. It was fucking creepy.  
Zayn raised an eyebrow, "Êtes-vous d'accord..?" To which the guy didn't answer. He just kept his head low, protected under his hoodie. So, not French then?

"Look, man, if you want one you just have to ask, but don't stare at me like that. It's kinda scary," Zayn said, a bit louder this time.

The hoodie-guy was tall, but scrawny. He wasn't exactly intimidating, so Zayn didn't flinch when the guy began to walk up to him.

"Those things will kill you, y'know," the guy said, in a voice that sounded flirtatious, almost as if the guy was asking Zayn to prom.

Zayn scoffed, "Thanks, mom. I think I'm fine," he pulled another long drag in.

"I'm serious, Zayn," the stranger kept talking. Zayn almost choked, coughing the smoke he had just inhaled, out. How did he know his name?!

"How about, instead of partying your nights out and slowly giving yourself lung cancer, we pull out another New Mexico, huh?"

Zayn's jaw dropped as did his cigarette.

\--------------------------  
**Arizona State Prison, Arizona, U.S.A. 10:41 a.m.**

Luke sighed, "Done," he said, already bored again. Frank, on the cell next door, cried out in frustration. 

"How do you do that? Seriously, it's unreal!"

Luke grinned and looked down at the solved rubik cube. He had always been good at it—solved his first one when he was 6 and never stopped since then. Luke stretched his arm out of the bars and held the cube for Frank to grab. When he felt the cube be pulled out of his grasp, he let it go and retracted his arm back inside. 

He was sitting cross-legged on the left-front corner of his prison cell so that he could pass the cube to Frank—who was in the cell next door—and vice versa. Frank would mess up the colors as best as he could, and Luke would solve it as fast as he could.

Luke could hear Frank sigh, "I don't get it, I'll never be able to solve this damn thing myself. You, kiddo, have a talent right here."

Luke cringed at the word "kiddo", but kept quiet. He was 19 for fuck's sake. And in jail. But Frank was nice. He had only just met him a week before, but the old man was sentenced for life and was nearing his seventies. Frank was a good man, and Luke wasn't sure if he wanted to know why the old man was in jail in the first place.

"Okay, here. You'll never solve this one!" Frank stated, pleased with the mess of colors he had created. Luke reached out and took the cube from Frank's hand once more. 

Luke looked at the cube. He hummed out loud. He began with the white side. It was relatively easy to put together until the last two white squares. When he finally got them, he began with the sides next to the white plane, aligning the colors there. Then the centers with their respective colors. Then the T's. After that it became easier. Using the algorithms he had learned years before for the tricky parts, Luke was done with the cube in less than three minutes. 

"Done... Again."

"Damn it!"

Luke laughed. He passed the cube again to Frank, who took it and eyed it for quite the while, "Boy, you really have some skills..." He said distractedly. Luke smiled. He really liked Frank. They might get to be good friends one day. 

Frank gave him the cube, disorganized, once again. Luke was so concentrated trying to align a red corner to the rest of the red face that he jumped when a guard knocked on his cell gate. Luke gasped and stood up, looking at the guard straight in the eye. The guard kept glaring as he took out his keys and a pair of cuffs, "It's your lucky day, Hemmings. Someone just payed off your release," he said, clearly annoyed. 

Luke smirked, "I know you'll miss me, sweetheart, don't cry," he ran his finger down a gate bar seductively. Frank tried to stifle a laugh but failed, which brought a smile to Luke's face too. Luke really liked to piss off the stupid guards. It was the most amusing thing you could do in jail. 

The guard pushed open the gate, which made Luke stagger backwards, but he was still smiling. The guard was not amused, "Shut the fuck up, Hemmings. If it were for me, I would have sent you to the lower levels," Luke stretched out his arms and the guard cuffed his wrists with a little more force than necessary, "For life." The guard pulled Luke out of the cell and closed the gate, pushing Luke into the hallway.

Luke wanted to say some snarky comment back, but the look on Frank's face died down all desire to be witty right now. It dawned on him; he was getting out and leaving Frank, and most probably wouldn't see him ever again. Frank had no friends, as far as Luke knew. The guy was lonely all the time, he didn't deserve this. As the guard pushed Luke past Frank's cell, Luke turned his head to face Frank, who was standing up and pressing himself against the bars, as if doing so could squeeze him out and leave with Luke. 

"Take care of my cube for me, will ya'?" Luke called back at Frank, who was speechless and could only nod. Luke was so going to miss Frank. Right then, Luke promised himself to send Frank letters and call every time he could. 

Continuing down the prison hall, Luke couldn't help but ask, "Who payed my loan?" His mouth moved without his consent, and suddenly a horrifying thought crossed his mind, "Was it my father?" He asked carefully.

The guard shook his head, "Guy's too young to be your dad. Actually, he told me to tell you that the boss is back in town. I don't know what he meant by that, but I swear, Hemmings, if they catch you opening safes again, I will send you to the basement with the psychopaths." The guard warned.

But Luke hadn't processed anything after 'town'. 

Could it really be..? Him..?

\--------------------------  
**Clube da Luta Subterrânea, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. 8:14 p.m.**  
_  
Ding ding ding ding._

The bells of this round ending chimed and Liam slung down his arms, exhausted. He stumbled back to his corner with his trainer Rafael, who was screaming and motioning for him to come closer. When Liam sat down on the tiny chair they had placed for him, Rafael began to treat his temple cuts and bruised lip with a wet towel while saying, "Vamos lá! Você pode fazê-lo, costelas forte vencê-lo!"

Liam nodded and shut down the suffocating noises and yells of the Brazilian crowd around the ring. Liam's face was made pulp, his right bicep had a huge bruise already forming, and he couldn't feel most of his ribs. He loved it.

The other boxer watched him from the other corner with intimidating eyes. Liam did the same. His opponent, Sergio, was a Brazilian, short and skinny but with pretty built muscles. And he was damn fast. Liam was more bulky and the smashing-type, but Sergio was a freaking ninja. 

"Liam, Liam," Rafael repeated, and took Liam's face in his hands, which forced Liam to look right into Rafael's eyes, "You beat the shit out of Sergio, you get me? He is fast but too confident, he forgets to cover his face after kicks," Rafael said in a husky voice, thick with Brazilian accent. 

Liam nodded again and again, hoping he would be able to use that information to win this fight at last. Him and Sergio had been tied all four-rounds long, "Sim sim, obrigado, sim," Liam whispered, his voice weak and tired, but determined.

Rafael grinned, and let Liam's head go, "Finish him, Liam! Eu sei que você pode fazê-lo!" Rafael yelled over the hundreds of angry voices behind them. 

Liam got up from the creaky chair and trotted up to the center of the ring, where Sergio was already waiting. They both tilted their heads and scowled at each other, like mad dogs waiting to tear the other apart. Soon enough, that would probably happen.

The whistle blew. 

Liam's fists flew forward from their position near his face to make contact with Sergio's head, but the Brazilian was extremely fast. He dodged and punched Liam's chest, not very hard, but enough to make Liam stagger back a step. Sergio didn't lose a second and threw a perfect roundhouse kick aimed at Liam's head. Liam blocked with one arm, and Rafael's words rang in his brain, he forgets to cover his face after kicks. 

Liam stretched his free arm as fast and hard as he could at Sergio's head while still blocking his leg, and thankfully Rafael was right. Sergio was unprotected. 

Liam's punch landed perfectly on Sergio's jaw, making his whole head spin back and spit fly out of his mouth. A quiet millisecond passed in front of Liam's eyes like an eternity, but finally Sergio was falling, tumbling down chest-first into the matt of the improvised ring. The referee began to count, but Liam could only process the unmoving, bruised, sweaty body of Sergio in the ground in front of him. 

Knock-out.

The referee took Liam's hand and raised it above their heads, blowing his whistle loudly. The crowd cheered and screamed Liam's name at he top of their lungs, and Liam could finally breathe again. He really had won. Liam smiled wide, "Yes! Yeah!"  
Liam turned to Rafael, who was celebrating too, "Eu sabia, Liam, eu sabia!" He laughed out loud and ran to Liam, took his head and shook it with emotion. Liam couldn't stop smiling. Some others got in the ring to congratulate and celebrate with Liam and Rafael. It was amazing. Sergio walked out the ring with aid and shame, somewhere out of the jumping lot.

When the initial winning-ecstasy ended and Liam could walk out of the ring to his tent, Rafael kept babbling in portuguese about how good Liam had been and how proud he was of his progress. Liam was all sorts of happy and just couldn't believe his luck. This fight had been wonderful. The beginning had been tricky, but the end justifies the means, innit? Liam didn't care about the bruises and cuts and the pains he would have for the next few days. He had won.

Inside his tent, though, the joy and buzz of the win flew out as soon as they both took a glance inside. There was a man sitting in his chair, with his back toward Liam and Rafael. Long limbs and a hat on his head. What the..?

"Quem diabos é você eo que você está fazendo aqui?! Quem deixa entrar?! Dar o fora!" Rafael began to walk toward the man, but Liam held him back by the arm. Rafael was fuming. 

"Acalme-se, Rafa," Liam said, low so only Rafael could listen, "Deixe-me lidar com isso..."

Rafael scowled but kept quiet. Liam let go of his arm and walked forward a little bit. The man kept looking away from them. Before Liam could say anything, the man spoke up, "Eu não sabia que você falava português, Liam," he said with a familiar accent. 

Liam stopped short. He knew this man from somewhere... 

Definitely, but he couldn't quite place his voice. 

"Eu tive que aprender," Liam answered carefully.

The man gave a pause, "I had higher expectations for you, really. I never thought you'd end up in semi-pro street fights in the favelas, damn it."

Liam now definitely recognized the voice.  
But it couldn't be. 

"Don't you wanna make some real flour again, Liam?" The man asked, and turned around to face them.

\--------------------------  
**An abandoned house, New York, U.S.A. 11:39 p.m.**

"Ash, you're gonna finish the fucking joint, I helped pay for that too," Niall extended his arm in annoyance. 

Ashton rolled his eyes at his friend and, after pulling a long drag, placed the roll-up on Niall's hand, who whisked it away quickly. Ashton closed his eyes, let the weed do its work, and spoke up, "Man, come on, don't worry... I'll pay you the fucking joint if you want to, but calm down."

"How the fuck do you expect me to calm down if I can't get the binary section of this code right?! I need to crunch this virus down to a hundred and fifty megabytes, but somehow I can't bum this shit and my deadline is in ten fucking hours, so don't tell me to calm the fuck down alright?!" Niall called out toward Ashton's general direction while he typed on the main keyboard and pulled a drag from the joint. Maybe that would help. 

Ashton lifted his eyebrows and threw his hands up in defeat, "Wow, someone's PMSing... There's no need to swear that much, Niall..." He slurred and stood up, the drugs now making the world a little dizzier, "Besides, I know you'll get it right in time," Ashton walked closer to Niall and pressed a kiss to his messy hair, but Niall only flinched away and growled at Ashton, way beyond exasperated. Ashton only smirked and went to the kitchen. He knew what would cheer Niall up, the poor lad had been up for like twenty hours already and, according to him, had ten more to go.

Niall had his eyes glued to the arsenal of screens he had stacked and drilled to the wall to build his computer. He had nine screens, different sizes and brands, but in perfect sync with one another and basically pieced together like a solved puzzle. Niall had six external hard drives, three different keyboards and two mouses—not counting the stylus pad—and he had the brains for MIT, so why he couldn't find the bug in the damn code was a mystery to him. He checked every bracket, every open, every close, every command with meticulous patience, but to no luck.

Niall let out a yelp of frustration and pushed back his chair, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

Ashton came back and kneeled next to the crumpled, mumbling mess of Niall, and softly pulled him out of the chair to sit on the concrete, dusty floor. Niall let himself be moved because he was done with it all.  
"Niall, look at me," Ashton said softly, Niall obeyed, "You'll get it right, trust me. There's no one in this damned world better than you with computers and codes, so don't worry, okay?" Ashton pulled up Niall's chin with a brush of his fingers. Niall nodded, not entirely convinced. Ashton sighed. 

"You should take a break. I thought we could use it to celebrate, for when you finished the code, but I think you need it now," Ashton said, taking out a lighter, a spoon, a couple of syringes, and the small plastic bag of methamphetamine he had just bought last night. 

Niall's eyes lit up at the sight, "Oh... Oh yes, yes..." He said and didn't miss a beat pouring himself some heroin on the spoon right away, "Ashton, you're the best friend a hacker could ask for," he said and began to burn the butt of the spoon with he lighter's flame.

Ashton smiled, "You'd be lost without me," he said with a smirk on and began to rip open the syringe bags. There were happy, impatient smiles on both their faces. Like a child on Christmas.

"Boys, I told you to stay away from that shit."

Niall and Ashton both jumped and dropped what they had in their hands. They looked back to where the voice had come from, but the dark house wasn't helping. The only light came from the computer's screens and a few candles around the room, but it wasn't enough.

Their hearts were pounding, their thoughts were flying, but none of them moved or said a word.

"I thought you'd keep being addicts to the, may I say, classier type of drug," the voice came closer. Now they could hear the voice's footsteps thanks to the loose debris on the floor. 

The voice was so close now that a single footstep would bring it to the screens' light, and when it did, neither boy sitting on the ground could believe his eyes. 

"Hello boys."

"Oh my God..." Niall breathed in, at the same time that Ashton exhaled, "You came back..."

\--------------------------  
**Tomlinson Mansion, California, U.S.A. 9:21 a.m.**

The sun blazed hot. The wind blew warm. The air buzzed calm. The ocean exhaled fresh.

The perfect start to a perfect day.

Louis leant on his room balcony's railing to look at the Pacific. Every morning, no matter how long he had lived on this beach and had watched this same view, it took his breath away. Every morning, he realized all over again why it is called the Pacific. Every morning. Well, every morning not filled with stranger vomit and empty red cups in the pool and over-used straws and ashtrays filled to the top and naked people passed out somewhere. Which was rare.

But Louis enjoyed to simply watch the ocean from his balcony before starting the day. Whatever type of morning it was, he liked to use his few minutes of liberty as soon as he woke up just leaning on the railing, watching the waves crash over the white sanded beaches some fifty feet from his house. The occasional flock of birds passing by. The smell of salt coming from the West and brushing his hair out of his face.

Louis sighed. His minutes were over. He needed to face reality again. Not that his reality was bad anyway, but he liked the easiness of his mornings. 

Pulling on a clean pair of jeans and leaving his tan torso bare, Louis walked barefoot downstairs, where his breakfast was waiting for him.

"Ah, Mr. Tomlinson, you're awake," Mumford noted respectfully and bowed slightly from the hall down the stairs, the echo of his words bouncing to and from the walls of the hall they were in. He had his usual tuxedo on and his white hair slicked back.

"Good morning, Mumford. I trust you had a good night?" Louis asked, finishing his trip down the stairs.

"Of course I did, sir. I enjoy the unusual quiet nights," Mumford commented as a joke and smiled. Louis smiled back. 

"Yeah well, five days in a row is enough, I guess," Louis winked.

Mumford huffed a small laugh before walking behind Louis, who was going to the kitchen to retrieve breakfast.

"Since this was a tranquil morning, I prepared your favorite. Figured you'd enjoy it with the relaxing day you have forward, sir."

Louis smiled. Mumford always knew what he was thinking, sometimes even before Louis thought about it himself, and the guy was forty years older than Louis, "Thanks a lot, Ford. You're amazing."

"Just doing my job, sir," Mumford said but couldn't help the pleased grin that crept over his face. 

Louis walked toward the breakfast table and pulled away the top of his plate, where a small stack of weed and a rectangle of thin paper waited his preparation.

Louis smiled. Perfect morning.

After rolling up his breakfast and lighting it up, he took it outside to the backyard with him. Opening up the tall glass doors, he breathed in the Californian air. Louis closed his eyes in momentary pleasure. 'Sex, sedatives, and sea'.

Louis laid down on an armchair and pushed it down, reclining further back. The backyard consisted of a pool with a minibar right in the middle, three jacuzzis, a lot of armchairs, and a forty feet long grassy space, completely empty except for the plants. Continuing on, there was the ocean, mighty and resting, swishing back and forth incessantly.

Louis placed his sunglasses on and smoked his joint slowly, letting his lungs fill with its numbing peace. 

Birds chirped nearby. The ocean's wind caressed Louis' hair and golden body softly, cooling it down and balancing the suffocating heat from the sun above that Louis loved so much. He shifted his body to a more comfortable position, his small but strong muscles moving in synchrony. He chuckled. Louis was blazing hot, and he knew it. He basically transpired sensuality.

Louis was almost asleep again when footsteps came at his direction, "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt but there's... Someone, at the door," Mumford was unsure.

Louis pulled up his sunglasses and turned off his breakfast—he could finish it later, "Who is it?"

Mumford's face was blank, "It's Harry, sir," Louis frowned in astonishment, "Harry Styles."

Louis' eyes widened, but after the initial shock was over, a smirk that covered his entire face took over Louis.

"Well, let him in, then."


	2. Two Bottles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I take a long time updating... Better get used to it... Sorry...
> 
> Enjoy chapter 2!

_"No, Harry, you don't just get to do that to me!"_

_"Lou, please, just listen—"_

_"No, you listen you piece of shit, I trusted you! I placed my life in your hands for that stupid fucking code! And what do I get in return? Fucking betrayal. It's the worst thing that you could have done to me, seriously, what is wrong with you?! We were together! I—... I could even go that far and say that I actually loved you!"_

_There was silence between them while both digested what had just been said. Stan simply stood against the far wall with his arms crossed and a blank expression._

_How could Harry truly prove that the honestly didn't know why the fucking chip had suddenly appeared in his bag? Louis out of all people should trust his word, and why Stan wasn't defending him was a mystery, but shit... This was such a fucking huge misunderstanding._

_"I—I loved you. I fucking loved you, Harry. And there's nothing in this life that I regret more."_

_Harry stood there, gaping and not quite sure of what he had heard, but his eyes were leaking tears and his throat was giving squeezes. Louis looked at the chip in his hand that he had just snatched from Harry, sighed and tucked it in his pocket. He then turned sharply and walked up to the door, but stopped himself before leaving to turn his head back around to say, "In fact, there is something I think I regret more."_

_And nothing could have readied Harry to see Louis step toward Stan, pull him down by his leather jacket, and kiss him strongly in the lips. Stan looked startled too, but didn't push the smaller man away. Right then and there, Harry felt he might explode and vomit at the same time. ...How could they?!_

_But no... Louis had just broken down, and the chip was going to be ultimately his, so Louis couldn't really had planted his own chip in Harry's jacket. The guy l—, uh yeah... He loved him. So he wouldn't want to leave Harry. Not really. So that left..._

_Stan?_

_Louis ended the kiss and glared at Harry, later to stomp out of the hotel room sniffing._

_Harry wouldn't see him again in a ver long time._

_And the realization that Stan may have plotted this all along just to keep Louis to himself made Harry's blood boil. Stan was their friend... Or at least appeared to be. Why would he do such a thing out of pure greed?!_

_With a deep breath to calm his fury and to try to relieve his knotted throat, Harry lifted his eyes slowly, only to find Stan smirking._

_"You..."_

_Stan's smirk grew._

__

•

 

The Port, as Harry liked to call it, was a kind of warehouse located near the coast, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a second floor made up of metal walkways, railings, and stairs. The Port had cement floors and a simple roof; the thing had been abandoned before its construction had even finished. It was supposed to be part of Gündervant's tuna trademark, but never got to finish because of the complete and sudden dismantlement of the poor fishing company. No one had ever thought about the warehouse since then. Not until Harry came by it a few days after arriving back in the west coast.

Harry had to dust off the place quite a bit, and because the authorities could take it away from him, he had to deal with the rats and cockroaches himself. Nasty bussiness it was, no doubt, but worth it all the same. In the end, Harry had a beautiful empty space all for himself. Well, not only for himself, for in a couple of months, he would be back with eight more people to share it with. 

Those couple of months had now arrived, and Liam, Zayn, Michael, Calum, Ashton, Niall, Luke, and Louis were currently standing up around a table that Harry had brought to the Port, Harry on one side, the rest on the others. There were no chairs yet—hence why they were all standing.

"Good morning, fellow thieves and conmen," Harry began. Because nothing lifts a criminal's spirits more than reminding them what they are, "You may be wondering why I have gathered you all here today. Some flew halfway across the country, others halfway across the world, but I promise you, it's for a worthy cause. Even if that cause is only to get you out into the sunlight for once," Harry gave a pointed look to Niall and Ashton, who didn't look insulted in the slightest. They actually smiled bigger.

"Anyway. I chose you people because I know what you're all capable of. I've maybe worked a hit or two with some, or for many years with others. But whatever you did in our time together, you all managed to impress me to the point of calling you here today."

The thieves all looked around themselves, pleased for the flattery, but also slightly annoyed because of Harry's subtle placement of himself in an invisible criminal throne.

Harry began to walk around then, "Now, before I can tell you what we will be doing, I need to know that all of you will give your everything for this hit, and that you won't back down on me. This will be one of the biggest cons you lot will ever do in your lives, and if everything goes to plan, we'll all be a thousand times richer than we imagine ourselves in our wildest fantasies."

This caught everyone's attention. Some seemed ecstatic and eager to know, others looked more cautious. 

"So," Harry stopped, barely suppressing his whimper of pain. Damn muscles... He needs his pills. Luckily, no one seemed to notice his pain, "Who wants in?"

The others looked around for a while. Harry had to intervene, "No one's going to have to do anything too extreme. I know your strengths and your weaknesses. I won't have you ruin my hit because you can't play your part, so beileve me when I say that you'll all be quite able to do whatever I ask you to without any problems."

After a silent moment where Harry was surprisingly afraid of some of them backing out, Louis spoke up, "I don't know you lot, but I trust this mop headed fucker. I'm in," Louis said to Harry. There was a silent apology still in Louis' eyes, but Harry smiled at his blue eyed beauty, telling him that it was alright. 

"You may have been the cause of most of my hospitalizations, but I can't say I don't like working with you," Liam chimed in not long afterwards. 

Luke talked forth too, "I still owe you two from our works in Monaco, so yeah, I'm in too," Harry held back a chuckle at that. 

Shortly after, all of the others had gone forth with Harry, excited about their new hit.

Harry couldn't be more happy for it.

"Good. Good, this is perfect," Harry clapped his hands in anticipation, "The last thing I need to know before I tell you what we will be doing, is a small test."

The others looked around them confused as Harry reached for his back pockets, with a little dificulty due to his _fucking muscles_ , from where he fished out two small bottles full of white-and-blue capsules. All eyes were in the bottles, and Harry placed them in the center of the table, side by side. 

"One of these two bottles contains simple sugar capsules, completely harmless. The other, though, has a capsule that will make me throw up until I'm bleeding. I want you to decide from which bottle should I take a pill." 

The other's reactions were priceless. Harry couldn't help but laugh, which worsened their faces.

"You want us to do _what?!_ "

"You heard me right." Harry reasured them.

Their unsure and horrified faces were enough to pull out a chuckle from Harry. Which made them even more weary. Oh this was going to be fun.

"But what if were wrong or—"

"What if you end up dying on us..."

"Holy fuck, you're insane—"

"Are you completely sure you want _us_ to decide?! The pills look exactly the same!"

Harry simply nodded. The others took the hint that they wouldn't change Harry's mind about this, and thus began to debate between themselves in silent voices. Louis was on one side of the group, gazing at Harry with a look that said 'you little shit, what is going on?!' Harry winked at those blue eyes. Louis raised an eyebrow, but Harry's action eased his nerves. 

Only Zayn was apart from the discussing group, looking at the bottles calculatingly, then at Harry, and back again at the bottles. 

Harry smiled; it seemed that a winner was coming.

After a few moments, Zayn spoke up from behind everyone, startling the group, both with his sudden loud voice and his answer, "You can take either and you'll be fine."

The group's eyes said that he had just gone mad. Zayn walked up closer to the bottles, and picked one up, examining it, "These capsules aren't made of sugar, nor they will induce you a barfing attack. Sugar capsules are normally brown, and if you filled empty capsules with sugar I'd be very surprised by your lack of lazyness. On the other hand, no medicaly legal pills can induce you vomit. Medicine prefers laxatives, carbon or intestine washes to rid the body of unwanted stuff, so if these really will make you throw up your guts, they're illegal. If they were, though, they'd very rarely be capsules. Independent pharmacists prefer normal pills, they're easier to make and harder to identify their ingredients. If it was a rare case of illegal capsule, the creator would mark it, sort of a signature, so people know his work. I see none. These have to be legal," Zayn placed the bottle back down on the table. The rest, even Harry, were listening to his every word as if it would send them to Heaven. 

"So this means that the capsules in these bottles do something else, and by their similarity in color and the fact that there are dents in the plastic of some capsules in both bottles, I'm confident to say they all came from the same package. Now, you wouldn't make yourself take a capsule without knowing what it is, so you have them for something, and knowing you, the only way that you'd buy so many legal pills would be if you had some illness. Your eyes aren't red, your voice isn't rough, you're not pale... So, you're not sick. These have to be prescription pills for something else entirely. And, judging by the muscle pains you have been having, these pills are for relieving it. So here," Zayn said, popping open one bottle and taking out a capsule, "Help yourself."

Harry was smiling so wide he thought his cheeks would rip appart. The others were looking at Zayn in mixtures of shock and utter admiration. Zayn was trying not to smile in triumph. 

Taking the pill from Zayn's hand, Harry swallowed it dry and smiled at Zayn. 

"We have ourselves a winner." He exhalted.

The rest were still in a bit of a shock with Zayn's deductions, but they all turned to quickly congratulate the olive skinned man on his achievement. 

Harry smiled to himself—he had his own Sherlock Holmes now. His hit could actually work, with Zayn's help.

"Alright, now that this little test is done, you're all in for the treat."

The rest became quiet, expecting Harry to tell them what they would be doing this time. 

"We," Harry looked around his new band of thieves, his comrades and friends, before continuing, "Are going to rob the biggest, most famous, and wealthiest casino of the day." Harry could see everyone's faces turn into various levels of amusement, worry, and excitement. 

"The Prime Solstice."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...... I'll probably never update this...... Be hopefull though! This fic is one of my babes and I love it, so I'll try really hard to find the time to continue! See ya'll soon.


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